Shadows
by Ranko Rainflower
Summary: I know it's been done before, but this is perhaps what Dilandau's thinking on one of his "off days". I don't know whether or not to continue it and have the Dragonslayers try to convince him that he's not alone...


Shadows  
I wrote this while listening to "The Girl Who Stole The Stars" from Chrono Cross. It's very inspiring.  
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Thunder boomed outside the walls of the Vione and echoed through the empty corridors. The quiet sound of rainfall added to the eerie feeling of loneliness that the elite leader of the Dragonslayers was enduring. Dilandau sat staring off into space, aimlessly tapping his fingers on his empty plate. Chesta put down his fork. "Umm, Lord Dilandau, sir, is something wrong?" he asked, and winced as though he were going to get hit. But he didn't.  
  
"No, no, Chesta, I'm....fine." he replied. Dilandau waved as if to assure them he was all right.  
  
Chesta reluctantly believed his lord. "Okay, sir..." he looked back at his plate. "you just seem a bit out of it today."  
  
Dilandau looked over at each of his men, his eyes a bit wider and dilated. "I'm 100%..." he searched for the word, "100% happy." All of the Dragonslayers raised their heads to stare at him, godsmacked. Dilandau? Happy? Wasn't he the one that always was smacking them and scolding them, critisizing them? Dilandau sat lost in his thoughts. He raised the hand that wasn't drumming on his plate to his forehead, making it look as though he had a migraine.   
  
Chesta looked to Dalet. He was staring at their leader, a brow raised. Guimel, Viole and Migel exchanged worried glances. Gatti also was examining his master. After what seemed like forever, the Albatou boy got up and walked slowly out of the kitchen, looking down at his feet as though he were about to cry.  
  
The Dragonslayers exchanged looks, and eventually went back to eating.  
  
--  
  
Dilandau took a seat on the windowsill in his room. He looked outside at the rain, and at the stars, and the moons. The stars seemed smudged throughout the sky, and the moons were blurry, the rain was soothing but the thunder made his ears ache. He hugged his knees. Sitting like this, all alone, he felt like a little homeless child, one without a family. He felt cold even though he was in full armor in the middle of a summer night. He wanted to cry...  
  
  
  
The pyromaniacal boy shut his red eyes to prevent the tears from escaping. Was he really alone?  
  
  
  
Dilandau hesitated in mid-thought when he couldn't hold back any more. Crystalline tears streamed down his pale cheeks, now rosy with emotion.  
  
  
  
A knock came from the door. Dilandau sniffled, wiped his eyes with his leather glove, debating with himself over whether he should let whoever it was in. He lost his own battle. "Come in..."  
  
It was Chesta. "Sir," he bowed, "I...we were worried about you."  
  
  
  
"That's a lie.." the albino replied quietly.  
  
Chesta stepped forward, "Lord Dilandau," he tilted his head. "I want to make sure you're okay." Chesta felt a little more comfortable knowing that he wouldn't be slapped. Dilandau looked up at him, with eyes that were soft and gentle. It was almost surprising for Chesta to see his master in such a state.  
  
  
  
"Go away."  
  
  
  
"I said, go."  
  
  
  
Chesta turned, and left the room.  
  
  
  
Dilandau hugged his knees again and burst into tears. Surely, he was as isolated as he led himself to believe. For just a moment, he looked up, and at the room around him. Before him was a large bed, neaty made, with velvety maroon pillows overlapping on the firey-red sheets. The carpet was a dark red as well. A small oak table was shrouded by shadows in a corner of the room, and on the other side was a cherry oak bureau, with various things layed out on it. Candles, matches, a mirror, a pocketknife. Leaning against the wall behind the door was his trusty flamethrower. Often times, when he looked over that room, he thanked the Gods for giving him such a priveleged lifestyle and a beautiful place to reside. Unfortunately...now, when he looked at his room, he only thought of it as one big charade, that none of that was even his. 


End file.
